


Glass

by trixyaheart



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-08-21 05:14:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixyaheart/pseuds/trixyaheart
Summary: With her went so much of me.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Trigger Warnings** [spoilers]  
> Schizophrenia, panic attacks, self-harm, suicide, mental hospitals, various hallucinations, smut, breakdowns, delusions, grief, death
> 
> A/N: I do not suffer from schizophrenia, however, I have done lots of research and am interested in learning more, so if anything here is inaccurate/dumb please let me know?

The door slams shut.   
"Hey, loser," my best friend whispers, smirking, sauntering over to me, throwing her bag onto her desk chair.  
"Katya! Late, again. Really?"  
"So sorry," Katya rolls her eyes. 

Sometimes when I'm walking past the store where we would go every Wednesday after school, or when I'm riding the bus next to the seat where she would sit, I see Katya. I see her bouncing her leg up and down or smoking or chewing gum with her mouth open, and then I realize that the girl's hair is more brown than blonde and that she's wearing a Katy Perry shirt instead of a leather jacket.  
Katya hates Katy Perry. 

History goes slowly. Katya eventually tires herself out of ways to annoy the teacher and sits, ripping up tiny bits of paper.   
She never did have a very long attention span.   
When the bell rings she's the first to get up, her chair screeching against the hard floor. I laugh and tell her to wait for me, because that's the sort of thing we did.

Skipping lessons was a bad habit. She knew it and I knew it too. The thing about Katya is that she didn't even care about much at all.  
At least, I thought she didn't care.

We walk down the corridor, crushed in a pile of sweaty students, then take a turn to dip out of the stampede and through the back door.  
Katya lights a cigarette as soon as the air hits our faces. She laughs at my disapproval.

Katya opens her mouth, then pauses. "Do you wanna go somewhere?"

**

The wind blows strong against the trees. the four of us have to steady ourselves. we laugh, giddy with excitement, despite the horrible weather.

"I love it here," Dela sighs, laying back onto a swing. I settle on the one next to her, and Katya rests her head on my shoulder behind me. Her hair tickles my neck.  
Pearl lights up two cigarettes, passing one to Katya and offering the packet to Dela and I. We both shake our heads politely.

"It's pretty cool," Pearl states, an inch of a smile on her face. This is how I remember her.

This 'place' was really just a corner of the forest next to our school. It was small and somewhat hidden away from the rest of the world and leads to an abandoned park. Of course, Katya had come across it herself - I remember the day she ran back to our dorm to tell us. At first, we'd make a big deal of it, bringing smuggled wine and sandwiches, acting all grown up and giggly. And then it became a safe place. a safe place for when one of us needed to be cheered up, or when two of us needed to get drunk.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing ever ends poetically. It ends and we turn it into poetry. All that blood was never beautiful. it was just red.

We'll never be those kids again. We'll never feel as young or as free as we did before we got jobs, or had kids, or joined university.

Everything still reminds me of her, but the things that used to make me cry just make my eyes go blank and my hands shake.

I guess I'm stuck between who I was and who I am now.

And I'm sick of all the questions in this fucking hospital.

Are you hearing voices? What are they saying? Do they tell you to do things? What's going on? Have you taken your medicine today? No?

I know they're trying to help. I know they are; I just wish they weren't.

So I sit here at my rounded desk, scribbling in my notebook in a place seventeen-year-old Trixie would've never imagined herself. Funny that, when you've got everything under control, and then suddenly you don't.

I guess I could draw, or sit outside on the smoker's deck with the other patients, but my pencils are blunt and I don't smoke.  
My guitar stares at me. I ignore it.

knock knock knock knock

knock.  
KNOCK KNOCK knock.  
KNOCK.

I hesitate, then answer the door.

"You haven't been down to take your meds."  
"Because I don't want to."  
"Trixie..."

I hate my nurse. I hate him because he tries to be sympathetic as if everyone else hasn't given up already.

"Fuck off."


	3. Chapter 3

In the red neon light, Katya looks like death. She also looks beautiful.

Glasses clink and people laugh. People I know, people who are almost friends.

She's heading towards me, arms outstretched, blonde hair wilder than usual. My heart never stopped skipping a beat when I saw her. Not once.

We dance. We dance and dance and dance until it's no longer dancing and we're molding into the same person.   
We kiss. It's messy and now there's red lipstick all over my pink mouth. Her hand reaches under my pink skirt. The music is loud and I can feel the thumping bass in the warmth of her neck. Her hair is in her face. I push it behind her ear.

At this moment, I knew I loved Katya more than anything in the world.

A voice calls from a few feet away, a girl standing by herself. She's got long, black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She's dressed head to toe in shiny ebony latex.

I watch Violet's face light up as Katya turns around and acknowledges her with a wave and an apologetic smile at me as she turns and leaves.

They disappear together.

After a few minutes of searching, I find Dela and Pearl arguing in the corner, slurring their words and spilling drinks over each other.   
"Trixie!" Pearl shouts, her eyes droopy and bloodshot. Dela rolls her eyes.

"Do you guys know where the bathroom is?" I ask, desperate to look like I know what I'm doing. Tears are dangerously close to falling out of my eyes. Dela attempts to give me lazy directions that roughly translate to "up the stairs, to the left".

I jog up the stairs fast. There are two doors on the left. I open one.

Two girls, one blonde with a head tight curls and one with silky black hair, no longer so neat. They're shamelessly melting into each other.

"Oh."


	4. Chapter 4

It's Saturday and Katya is missing. she wasn't in the dorm when we woke up, and she wasn't in the bathroom either. We asked a teacher but all we got was "don't worry about it."

That's exactly what we're doing. She never goes home on weekends. None of us do. We don't have anywhere to go.  
Without Katya, there's something missing. a blank space, an empty bed, a clean ashtray.

"Maybe she's sick," Dela says.  
"Sick with what? Lung cancer?" Pearl scoffs.  
"Likely," she jokes "Judging from how much she smokes. Not even you compare to that."  
"Hey, weed and cigarettes are different things!"

"She's trying to quit, guys," I say, my voice a little shaky.

Dela's face softens, "We're just joking around. It'll be fine. She's fine."

Pearl softly pats my back. I smile weakly.

We're silent for a minute or so.

"It's my fault, isn't it?" my voice cracks. I don't even realize I'm saying it.  
"Don't be silly, of course, it isn't! She probably just ran away again, you know what she's like."  
"I ignored her, I told her no," I bite my lip, thinking of last night "oh, God."

My roommates spurt gentle reminders that I'm overthinking, but I'm too trapped in my own thoughts. Nothing else matters. I need to know what's wrong with Katya.

I leave without warning, the door swinging shut behind me as I run down the corridors and the three flights of stairs to Sister Gertrude's office.

"Where is Katya?" I demand "Why isn't she here?"

Sister Gertrude looks at me with her old, brown eyes through her glasses.

"I'm afraid that information is confidential, Trixie."

"Please?"

She sighs, "As of last night, Yekaterina has fallen unwell, so she's at the hospital, but I'm sure she'll be discharged soon,"

My heart sinks.

"Can I see her?"

"Don't interrupt, Mattel,"

"Can I? Later?"  
"There is no reason you should."

Tears collect in my eyes. I let them fall.

Anything to get closer to her.

"Believe me when I say this is one of the worst parts of my job, but I'm going to have to say no. Not until half term holidays. Until then, you have other friends here, yes?"

I nod.

"Then you should be fine. Now, I hope not to see you in this office again for wrong reasons for a long, long time, is that clear?"

I turn around and leave, slamming the door shut, tears streaming down my cheeks. I can't wait to leave this fucking school.

When I return to my room, Dela and Pearl are sitting on Pearl's bed laughing. I don't understand how they could be when Katya's gone and it's my fault.

I put her in hospital.

I don't bother telling them what happened, even when they ask. I need to find Violet.

*

Panting, I find her outside, sitting on a bench reading. She looks up at me, and I realize how creepy I must look standing over her like that, so I sit down next to her. It feels alien.

"Do you know about-"  
"Katya?"

I nod.

"Yeah."

"Do you know why she's there?"

"No, I heard some girls talking about her passing out though, and crying... Apparently, she was, like, puking blood," Violet stops and looks at the floor.

Her hair is tied back in a tight ponytail, just like it was the last time I saw her.   
Her makeup looks effortlessly perfect, obviously. She's wearing a black t-shirt tucked into black slacks.

I take in my own outfit - I'm wearing my signature makeup, which looks fine, but I'm dressed in plain jeans and a sweater. Looking at Violet, my thighs feel too big for my body and my arms probably look huge, even though they're covered up.

"Oh," I murmur hoarsely, unsure of what to say.

"Did she say anything to you?" she asks, picking at one of her acrylics "You know, last night?"

"Uh," it feels weird talking to Violet like this, I don't think we've ever had a proper conversation before.

I recall what happened last night for the first time today since this morning, and it makes me feel sick. I can't tell violet that, but she seems to understand anyway.

"Trixie?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Violet says in this distant, monotone voice.

"I... I think so."

"Trixie?"  
"What?"

"Is it my fault?"

I think. "No."


	5. Chapter 5

I wake up at five. Shower. Try to masturbate. Fail.

I feel a bit better today.

No, you don't.

I look in the mirror without any distractions.

Pale face. Flat hair. Bad skin. Dark circles. I swear I'm a light shade of green: I can't remember the last time I wore any makeup at all.

My plump lips, which have always been my favourite part of my face, look dry and swollen. My brown eyes look like a light's been switched off behind them. My freckles are still there, but more faded than ever. My legs - well, that's not important. It's not like they'll heal.

When I stumble down the stairs at six, the nurses are surprised to see me lining up to take my meds, but I do it anyway. It takes about three minutes. I realise how long it's been since I've been outside, properly, and step onto the deck, where groups of adults laugh and mumble. The wind hits my face.

I'm so used to the smell of sweat and dust from my room that the fresh air feels strange. I gulp it in.

Sitting down, someone immediately asks if I want a fag, but I flatten my skirt and tell her no, I'm on a diet. She shrugs.

"Suit yourself."

She's tall, with shoulder length blonde hair, but with pink lips, not red lips. She's older than me - probably early sixties, but dressed like she's in her twenties, in a leopard skin skinny jeans and a hot pink crop top.

"I'm Trixie."

I hold out my hand and force a smile.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Tracy."

She doesn't tell me her name, but we sit together for a while as she tells me about how her brother was supposed to visit yesterday but didn't. I think about mine. I haven't seen him since I was admitted.

Then I'm late for therapy.

"Trixie!" an Indian man looks at me over his clipboard as I sit down in that leather brown chair that I despise so much.

"You're not Doctor Anderson."  
He smiles "That's right. I'm Doctor Ahmed."

So he's British.

"Where's Doctor Anderson?" I grip the sides of the chair, my bitten fingernails bleeding. I bring them up to my mouth and nibble.

Doctor Whatever takes a sharp breath in "He's not working here anymore, I'm afraid."

How could he? How could he abandon me? Without telling me, as well.

"Cunt," I mutter.  
"Sorry?"  
"Nothing."

"Anyways," the man sits in front of me "I've seen your notes," he taps the clipboard. Great. "But I don't think I can really get to know you just reading these, can I?"

Therapy talk. I'm fluent.

"How about you start to tell me about yourself? Your 'episodes' started due to bereavement, yes? Would you like to tell me about that?"

The word 'bereavement' echoes through the room. I choke on it. For some reason, I forget that other people know about her.   
I try to explain that she was my best friend, and that she...  
Oh God.

He gets the idea.

"Right. So I'm guessing you were close. What I want you to understand is, to get through this blip, you need to face the facts before we can go anywhere."

"I know that."

I've been in therapy since I was fourteen. I don't know why he thinks I don't know that.

"Tell me more about her. Do you see her? Hear her?"  
I hesitate, then nod. He smiles. It creeps me out.  
"It says here that you get a mix of visual, auditory, tactile and command auditory hallucinations. Could you tell me a little bit about that?"  
"I hear her voice," I say, and she laughs "I see her sometimes, too."  
"What does she tell you to do?"  
"You ask a lot of questions."  
"That's my job," he winks.  
"It's on my fucking folder."  
He looks down and his eyes widen.

"This is - this is Katya, right?"  
"Yes," my voice croaks.

I swallow; it's hard to hear her name out loud. It's a different voice that repeats it over and over in my head, but not like this.  
He makes an 'ah' sound and scribbles something down.

"She was your best friend."

I hate this.

"How did you meet?"  
"I don't know. We were like ten or something. She'd moved from Russia into my class at school. I don't know."

I do know. I remember seeing her for the first time. The word love gets thrown around a lot. I loved my ukulele. I loved my CDs. I loved my cat. But me and Katya. That was different.

She came over to me at break with her sandy hair and skinny legs and accent that had made me giggle the first time I heard it.

I still had a lot of baby fat and my hair was so blonde it was almost white, but she said she liked my freckles.

She'd laughed at my name.  
"Trixie? What's that short for?"  
I didn't know what she meant. I shook my head.  
"Nothing. I think my parents just hate me."  
"In Russia, we have basically three names. You pick one, then get a nickname. Mine was Barbra."  
"Really?" My eyes widened.  
"No, silly, but Yekaterina really is the Emily of Russia."

I continued to ask her question after question about her home country.

"Are you an immigrant?"  
I'm pretty sure Katya flinched at the word.   
"No," she said, then burst out laughing. I didn't understand, but I laughed along anyway, amused by her sense of humour.

From then on, we were known as Trixie and Katya. 

Dr Ahmed looks at me. I realise I'm crying. Fuck. When did I become that bitch that cries in therapy? My nails are bleeding loads now and he passes me two tissues.

"Do they hurt?" He says, pointing to my hands.

I hate my hands, they're all covered in scars and bruises, but my nails are the worst bit. I hide them under my sleeves.

"No."

He shakes his head.

"You're having trouble processing the death of a loved one. This is expected, especially with the schizophrenic gene. You need help, Trixie."

Well, he's shit at this job.

"Obviously. It's not like I didn't know," my voice growing louder "It's the reason I've been stuck in this fucking prison for the past three weeks, telling people like you about things that you shouldn't even need to know. If I wasn't such a fucking mess then I could have a normal life and grieve like a normal person, but I have to tell everyone about my secrets, about my favourite person in the world,"

I'm crying properly now, standing up, shouting, the words coming out of my mouth on a string, tangled together, slurred. I don't know why I'm angry, I just am.

"And people are scared of me. People fucking fear me. My own mom hasn't been to visit me because she thinks I'll hurt her. Nobody can actually help me, there's no cure to any of this, so, tell me, what's the point?"

"Trixie, sweetie, sit down..."

I push the books off of his desk and kick his chair, "This is what I mean. Everyone here is a fake, patronising bitch. Do I look like I can be fixed to you?"

Before he can reply, I slam the door behind me.

I jog up the stairs, my breathing ragged and heavy. I can feel the woman from   
earlier's eyes on me, still sad from her brother not visiting. I return to my room and slam myself onto my bed. I shake and curl up into a ball.

A hand strokes my hair. Red nails entangle with my curls.

"Shh, baby."

I sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

We're sitting in our dorm, restless on Pearl's bed. It's hours past our bedtime. Her and Dela giggle together in the dark, poking each other in the ribs.

I can't even remember what we were even laughing about.

"...Trixie?" Dela bumps my knee with hers. We're all in our pajamas. I never liked taking my makeup off so my hair hangs in loose curls around my face.

"Yeah?" I straighten my spine and smile, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest that hasn't left me alone since Katya had.

She looks at me, grimacing, but in a friendly way. I could tell Dela anything, but my problem is that I don't know what I would tell her if she asked, so I just smile again.

"Never mind," she smiles back.

Pearl nibbles on a perfect fingernail.

A knock on the door.

We gasp, tripping on each other, scrambling to get to our beds. My alarm clock glares 3:14. Pearl turns off the light and we lie in silence.

The door unlatches. I can hear Dela holding her breath. I just keep my eyes screwed tightly shut.

Shoes - boots - slap against the wooden floor. There's no speaking, just sniffs and then the bathroom door lock.

More sniffs.

A sharp intake of breath and then a sob. It tears through my soul.

Katya.

I peel back my covers as quietly as I can, heart pounding in my chest. Dela sits up. I open the bathroom door and freeze when I see her.

"What are you doing?" I say, tears stinging behind my eyes, "Where were you?"

"Trixie..." Katya looks at me, and I don't know if I'd ever seen her cry before.

"What?" I whisper. "What is it?"

She wipes a tear away, I take a step back. "Stage four Thyroid. Cancer. In my lungs. I just stopped breathing..."

"Katya..." My voice breaks, and then I'm hugging her, pulling her body close. She clings to me as if I'd be the one to let her go.

"I love you," I murmur into her shoulder. Surprisingly I don't find myself regretting it.

I can hear her shaky breath in my ear. She's shorter than me, just by a few inches. She winds a lock of my hair around her finger and lets it go.

"I love you," she says back.

She pulls away from me for a second and looks at me, then the floor, then back at me. She leans in, crimson lips parted slightly. She kisses me softly.

Our tears mix on our cheeks and our bodies press against each other in a warm embrace, Katya's lips fitting in so perfectly with mine. It was just right.   
Her tongue slips into my mouth and she runs a hand through my loose hair.

"You look so pretty like this," She whispers, "No makeup, natural hair..." She prods my cheek, making me giggle, "Freckles."

"Yeah?" I say, "I think you look pretty all the time,"

"Shut up," Katya replies and re-attaches her mouth with mine. She bites my lip softly, which is something she did a lot when we kissed.

I sigh under her touch - an arm that trails down my back, past my shirt and the waist of my pajama bottoms, and relaxes on my ass. She pushes me slowly against the bathroom door and grabs my ass, tight.

I giggle again. "You're gonna wake everyone up."

"I don't care," She looks me up and down and kisses my neck, slowly moving further down until she's on her knees.

I nod, grabbing the sink to steady myself when she pulls down my pants and rubs my clit a few times, spitting on her fingers and then slipping one inside of me.

I gasp loudly and shudder, covering my mouth to stop myself from moaning. I feel Katya's tongue on my pussy. I regret forgetting to shave, but carefully push her head towards me, sliding down the door. I whimper when she swipes over my clit and then sucks. She circles around it with her tongue.

"Fuck, Katya."

Katya lets out a muffled moan from somewhere between my thighs. I smile.

She adds two fingers, which fit inside me easier than before, and I throw my head back. She moves her head to look at me as I climax, panting and covering my mouth with my wrist.

And then she's on top of me, unbuttoning her black skinny jeans and taking off her underwear. She straddles me as I'm still dazed from my orgasm and rolls her hips, her pussy grinding against my bare leg, touching herself in the process. Her mouth hangs open and her lipstick is barely there anymore and she looks so, so beautiful.

She kisses me between heavy breaths and whimpers. I just hold her close. The sound of skin on skin fills the bathroom.

I touch her pussy, just a bit, and Katya comes with a gasp and shudders, pulling herself closer to me and whining.

When she comes down from her high, she pulls her panties and jeans back on and sits on the toilet seat. I turn my back to her to do the same.

"I'm sorry,"  
"What?" I squeeze beside her. She rests her head on my shoulder.

"I'm sorry."  
"You have nothing to be sorry for,"  
"Yeah," she wipes away a tear "I do. I'm just here to pack up my stuff. I'm going back the hospital tomorrow."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for self-harm.

When I return from my expedition to the outside world, my room smells like washing up liquid.

Sterile, clean, hospital smell.

I glance at myself in the mirror. It's got a baby blue border and is covered in a sheet of clear plastic for obvious reasons.

A pasty, tired face stares back at me, although my cheeks are flushed slightly from the cold weather. I look at my freckles and brown eyebrows and blonde hair. My pimples and eye bags. My cheeks don't look too full - I must've lost weight.

There's banging on the wall next door to me. I roll my eyes, guessing it must be my neighbor having another breakdown. You get used to it - the atmosphere - especially when you're part of it.

When I got here I was worse.

I look in the mirror again, this time at my body, which is swamped by a pink oversized sweater and sweatpants.

I lift up my sleeves and inspect my scars, some bulging out of my skin like fat leeches and some paper thin. Some are white, others a shade of pale pink.

I swallow.

You see what you've done? You see what you've done to yourself? Stupid girl.

Stupid girl.

Stupid girl.

My fingers trace the bumps down my forearm, each one recalling a memory. I reach the fattest on my wrist. A horizontal snake that eyes me. My hand shakes.

I press down hard with my nails, scratching up and down.

In the blood, I see her smile.


	8. Chapter 8

"You didn't have to come."  
"I know."

Katya's ward is white. Everything is white. 

Outside, the weather is that balance between cold and just right, when there's traces of rain but most of it has evaporated into cool, clean air. 

The first thing I notice when I see her is a clear tube running up her neck, around her jawline and reuniting at her nostrils. She looks tired. I sigh.

"It's not the same without you at school."

"I never thought I'd actually miss it," she says. 

I perch on the chair next to her bed. Beside me is a table covered in drugs and bits of paper and plates. "How are you?"

Katya shrugs. "I'm starting chemo tomorrow. They wanted to get me on it as soon as possible, but my mom didn't want me to lose my hair," 

When I look at her hair now, it does look thinner. I try to imagine her bald.

"Obviously I'm on a shitload of medication already..."

I bite my lip and nod. "They'll fix you," I say, but both of us look unsure. 

"Trixie... You know how far stage four is, right? At this point, there's not much they can do,"

"You can't give up."

"What if I have to?"  
"You're going on chemo."

"So is every other cancer patient in this ward, Trix. Do you think they're all gonna survive?" She rubs the skin around around the patch on her arm where the needle is connected to her veins.

Her hands are curled into fists beside her. I reach out to touch one gently, and she lets me.

"Trixie?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Tell me a secret."

I see stars in your eyes even when you're tired, and sick, and your entire existence is a paradox that makes me question every word - a mystery that I'd never fully understand. 

"I don't have any secrets," I say.

"Everyone has secrets."

Ever since I saw you for the first time in third grade, you haven't left my thoughts. Not ten minutes go by in a day where you don't cross my mind. Every song I've written, every chord I've played is for you. 

"Okay. Here's one - I'm afraid."

"Me too."

"Here's another - if you die, I'll kill you," I whisper, and she shrugs and grins at her legs. "Your turn," I say.

Say you love me. Again. Please. I could pick your voice out of a crowded stadium. Say you love me again.

"Okay," she thinks. "I'm fucking terrified."

"I know."

I love you.

*** 

Violet unlocks the door of her dorm and stares at me, mouth parted. 

"You wanted to talk to me?" I say, standing in the doorway. Violet snaps back to life.

"Oh, sure, come in, sorry,"

I sit down and my eyes burn. Seeing her again... It's weird.

Violet's dorm is smaller than ours; she's only got one roommate, Max, so there's two beds and barely enough room for each of them to have a desk to themselves. Violet's side of the room is intimidatingly tidy, mostly purple, black and white plastered cut outs from fashion magazines. Max's is slightly messier, grey, and decorated with polaroids. 

"I went to see her," I say, quickly.

Violet's eyes widen and she sits down on the bed, slowly. "Oh."

"Yeah. Today."

I see how broken she looks. 

"How is she?"

"Fine. As fine as you can be I guess. Starting chemo today."

I sit beside her, trying to relax the fire in my chest, but whenever I look at her the fire grows and I feel like I'm about to cry.

"I'm not okay," Violet blurts out suddenly, "You're the only person who understands," her voice cracks. "They say they do but they don't. I haven't been eating. I've stopped going outside, I'm depressed and," she breathes out, her breath shaking through thick tears.

"Violet..."

My stomach is tight. I'm going to be sick. 

"And it's like, every day, I'm haunted by the thought of her, everywhere I go, even in you..." She pauses. 

I nod.

And then I'm kissing her.


End file.
